


Albatross

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Cancer, Death by cuddles, Decapitation, Don't hate me shannon, Gen, M/M, Rape, Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Tension, Stabbing, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Writing this for a friend, kidnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian breaks a deal and is forced to face the punishment</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hound

**Author's Note:**

> There's an albatross around your neck,  
> All the things you've said,  
> and the things you've done,  
> Can you carry it with no regrets,  
> Can you stand the person you've become?

It was on the fourth sun that Killian realized he had attempted to bargain with a hound. Peter Pan, although he bore the face of boy, was no less than a predator. Their partnership was doomed from the day it began; he knew this not then however being chained in a cellar on the west coast of Neverland did provide a lot of time to reflect. Retrieving children from the water and delivering them to Neverland was a simple enough task, that is until his morals came into question. A misopedist, Killian no doubt was, however when it came to going against their will he found himself struggling to follow Pan’s instructions. That was where he made his first mistake. Peter did not take being confronted about this issue so lightly; he took being told the Captain was leaving him even worse. Pan thought to be a sign of weakness in Killian, which only aided in the inflation of his superiority complex. However what Peter did next was against all prior predictions one could have made. He decided that if Killian’s was not his by bond he would be his by chain. And so there he lay, broken and bruised on the floor of a child playing god.  
Killian knew he could not stay as an idle prisoner forever. Pan would get bored with him eventually, resort to other methods. One day he would appear in the corner, without food or water or clothes, he would carry only his skin and bones worn like armor of the soul. That day came with the set of the eighth sun.  
"Evening." A voice called from the far corner. “Have you missed me in my absence?”  
“Oh, who am I kidding, or course you have.” Pan laughed, his tone harsh and demeaning but his voice like that of a child.

“I surrender. You win. I’m yours.” Killian choked. 

The man truly meant it when he said he was done. He came to except that he was never going to leave by Peter’s will. If he was to ever be free again it would be because his own cunning. “I will do whatever you want, I swear.”  
“Whatever I want? How convenient.” Peter drawled as he stepped closer to where Killian huddled. “’T’s not like I need to hear it though. I don’t need consent from my toys.”

He traced a hand down the leather neckline of the Captain’s jacket.

“I take what I want.” His hand gripped tight on the collar.

“When I want it.”

“How I want it.”

“And no amount of begging or pleading or crying, can ever stop me.”  
Peter’s grin grew vicious as he weeded his hand through Killian’s hair.

“Undo my breeches.” He hissed.

Hook fumbled for words, unsure of what was just asked of him.

“You heard me, go on… Or are we going to pretend like you have a choice?”

With shaky hands he began to reach for the knot that swung in front of his face.

“Ah, Ah, not with your hands." He droned, tracing his thumb along Killian lip.

"You can't be aski-" Hook found himself stumbling, reaching in darkness for the first sentence he could form.  
"You're a child!"

Any other words he could have chosen would not have burdened him more than those which he spoke. Red streaks of rage shot through Peter so rapid it appeared as if the child was about to burst in flames.

"I am not a child! I am your keeper.. I am your god!" He shouted, voice cracking from the sheer force of his tone. "Now do I as I say or I'll tie your cock around your neck so tight your face will turn blue."

Killian knew he could not afford to be hesitant. With clenched fists he craned his neck forward and began biting at the drawstrings around Peter's waist. Then came the task of removing the pants themselves. It was required for him to get uncomfortably close the skin lining Pan's waist to bite at the side.

His head snapped back when the trousers were removed, having not expected Peter to not be wearing anything beneath them.

"Well then, get along with it." Peter huffed. " I don't have all night."

"I do- I don't understand. You can't wan-"

"Do I have to do everything myself?" 

With a swift motion Peter pulled Killian head, slamming straight into his crotch and forcing his lips to part at his cock.

An audible gasp came from the captain as Peter drove himself deeper into Killian’s mouth stroking the edge of his throat. He made feeble attempts to push the child away but the grip that was held in his hair was far too tight to remove.  
With thick motions Peter forced the Captain into a rhythmic bobbing motion, giving the captain little to no time to breathe. The sensation of head rubbing against the top of his mouth was enough to make him sick. Each second he feared that he may throw up which would only force him to endure worst punishment. For once in his life, despite what Killian would like others to believe, he was afraid. It wasn’t a very logical phobia; as long as he remained submissive he would live to see another day. He just simply could not shake the darkness that crawled its way inside of his mind. A little voice telling him this was all his fault, that he had brought this upon himself; a constant reminder that it was him who broke off their deal. Him and only him who created the monster that violated and humiliated him to utmost extreme.  
His disgust for himself and for Peter was brimming when he began to tighten his jaw. It was his natural reaction to such intrusive thoughts however it served another purpose and caused Pan to spill over in his mouth.

The boy slowly pulled himself out, giving one last wipe of his cock on Killian’s tongue. 

“Look’s like you’re going to be more useful than I thought.” 

And with that he disappeared, leaving the Captain with only his shame and the dreadful wonder of what the boy meant when he used the word ‘useful’.


	2. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A change in location gives Killian some fresh perspective

Killian felt as if his chest had been hollowed out. He had been left with but the dull thuds of his heart to echo throughout the chasm. His mind had been replaced with rot, consumed by the damp darkness that filled every corner of his current existence. 4 suns had risen and went since he last saw Peter, meaning he had gone without food or water for long enough to fuel a dire need that burnt through him at a rapid pace. Any dread he had about the boy returning had been silenced by the vicious growls of his stomach as it turned in on itself. His body grew weaker with each passing minutes, the simplest tasks such as defecating and urinating became excruciatingly painful and tiresome; so much so that he had given up directing the waste elsewhere in the room and just let himself go where he sat.  
The stench grew absolutely horrid.  
Thick coats of grease formed on his skin and hair after having not been able to bathe for several days. Forced to stew in his own fifth, Killian could feel his skin crawl and his inside twist and turn each moment he was conscience. His only consolation was the knowledge that death would soon take him, dehydration most likely. He had pushed his body’s limits before however never like this.  
-  
When the fifth sun came he wished for death.

By the light of the sixth he prayed for it.

On the seventh he saw it standing in the corner.

Death, the only god capable of answering his prayers had presented himself to Killian as a source of salvation. A sickening malevolence stirred in the room at his entrance. He appeared as blur, like a psychotropic mirage to Killian’s weary mind. However this was no illusion.  
Feet dragged themselves closer to Killian’s aching body, eyes watched over him with sickening lust. It was then that Death parted it’s lips and began to speak, although his words were slightly less sage than would be expected.

“It fucking reeks in here.” 

That was last Killian remembered of that day.

_

He awoke outside, a part the island he had never seen before, a cave of sorts, with a low sloping ceiling and threateningly sharp shards of rock. Outside he could see the bottoms of trees slowly thickening the further he looked. Wherever he was it was somewhere deep in the woods, the dead center of already large island. Both arms were chained to the rock behind him allowing him only about four feet of space to move around, a dead giveaway that his savior had been none other than the one who captured him in the first place, Peter Pan. A child’s mentality, he had. Getting bored with the space he kept his prisoners was certainly something Killian would expect of him.

Killian’s entire body had been relieved of the aches and pains that once plagued him, and for a brief moment he thanked whatever gods were listening for Peter’s magic. Killian also seemed to notice a certain lack of discomfort when it came to his hygiene. Every inch of him had been scrubbed down with soap and water, removing the filth that he had once been surrounded by. 

This was still not the end of the list of peculiar changes. He also noticed he no longer found himself desperate for food. Unless he had been force fed in his sleep there was no other explanation to the air of contentedness that settled inside him.

Killian’s memories of the past weeks slowly began drifting back to him. Intrusive thoughts, guilt and frustration, over what he had done to the boy before he was left to decay. To be fair he did have much of a choice in the matter, however violating a child in such a way made him sick enough to hurl; no matter what circumstances the child was young by. He could not help but blame himself for the past events of the week; it had been his own stupidity, his own sheer blindness that had gotten himself into this mess. There was a small part of him that clung desperately to the idea that Pan was once an ally, a friend even. That taking Killian as captor was all part of a larger plan, and there was a solid explanation to clear up all this chaos. It was an incredibly stupid idea, and certainly a longshot even by a dreamer’s standards. Nonetheless in times of desperation we find ourselves attaching to whatever strands of hope we can get.

Killian tried to think back. Raking his brain for the memories that would tell him how long he had been here. He was still too far in a haze to sort his thoughts clearly though so instead he held his hands.  
Counting on each finger he went back. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven- seven days after Peter’s visit. One, two, three, four- four even before that. Eleven days total, not accounting for however many he had been unconscious for. It was quite time Mr.Smee began looking for him. The mystery couldn’t possibly be that hard to solve, who else besides Pan would be volatile enough to crack at such extent. The ‘who’ and the ‘why’ of Killian disappearance were not what troubled him though. It was the ‘where’.  
The refreshment of his health had excited him enough to return to the topic of freedom. He didn’t dare take himself seriously enough to believe he or anyone else could free him, but he could not resist the temptation of thought.

His head shot up at the sound of footsteps outside. A dishevelled Peter Pan swung himself around the cave’s wall and looked straight at Killian. Any harsh feeling towards himself left Killian, leaving only rage. He was enraged, having been taken in some child’s temper tantrum and then used and left to die.  
“You’re awake, finally. It’s been rather tedious taking care of you while you slept. You really shouldn’t let yourself go like that. It was quite a foul sight.”

“You fucking, twat, I was chained to a wall and you expect me to be maintaining perfect self-care.” Killian grunted, scowling at the boy.

“Right, yeah sorry about the one.” Peter began. “I was a little busy. Things should be back to normal now.”

“A little busy! You shove your cock in my mouth and leave me to perish. ” He lunged forward, the chains stopping him from coming anywhere near Peter.

“Oh don’t be such a puss. I’ve come to help you… been thinkin-” He paused sitting down just out of Killian’s reach and crossed his legs like a schoolboy during story time. “This place’s a lot nicer than you’re old room, right? Well, maybe, you could stay In here for a while.”

The captain didn’t speak, for a moment he had to pretend he was calm. The outdoors was certainly favorable over the disgusting cell he was trapped in before.

“You’d still be chained at all times, of course. But nonetheless, we would have regular visits and feeding.” The boy seemed far too eager, nearly bouncing up and down in his spot.

The way Pan spoke only piqued him more; it was as if Peter was giving him a chose in the matter. One which he knew he did not have.

“What’s the price?” The words slipped out gruffer than Killian had intended.

“That’s simple. You stay submissive, stay docile. I use you when I need to and you don’t complain. As long as you’re mine, things will go very smoothly between us.”

“Not like I have much of an option.”

He wanted to scream. Tear apart Pan bit by bit, rip of his clothes and his skin until all was left was bone and meat to be ground up and fed to the rats. But he could not; he was bound and held, for then at least. Suddenly the captain understood why people always said that patience is a virtue.

-

He was left alone for the rest of that day. His rage burnt low when Peter was absent, without seeing the boy’s smug face he found his memories jumping back to the Pan he used to know before this entire ordeal. As time ticked by he became utterly aware of his surroundings. The cave was small, too small; suffocating even. It was a far change from the open sea he was used to. What he wouldn't give to see the crashing waves and the endless horizon just one more time. He let his neck crane down with the weight of his head, and curled his arms around his legs. A protective position, one you would not find him in often, however a nagging vulnerability had targeted him since the walls of the cave began to shrink in on him. He remained like that for at least another hour, unsure of what to do besides cover himself from his surroundings.

He felt something creeping up on him slowly. Not in an unnerving sense but rather a comforting warmth that encased his body. With this came all types of indulgent aromas, fresh bread, grilled steak, sugar coated lemon cakes, and the sweet scent of rum that tickled his nose. He looked up to see everything he imagined sitting in front of him, just out of reach. He shot up with the force of a tidal wave, grasping forward at the food.

He was stopped rather abruptly as a boot came smashing down on his hand. It took him a second to register what happened, as if he had been reprogrammed to a psychological disposition of radio silence whenever pain struck. The foot slowly removed itself from its position and slid the meal out of Killian’s range. The captain grabbed his throbbing hand, attempting to assess whedther any bones had been broken or fractured.

“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast. You have to earn what I give you. Or do we no longer have a deal?” 

Peter Pan’s grimace was a far change from the child’s yearning smile he had seen before. He was just inches out of Killian’s reach, most likely aware of the belligerent notions that filled the Captain’s mind.

“Perhaps I got a bit soft with you last time. Wasn’t in my right mind I suppose.” Peter spoke softly to him.

He then squatted, coming face to face with Killian. They were sharing each other’s air, an action that would be considered intimate had it not been for the Captain’s blatant disgust. Killian pulled his body further and further towards him, bending his limbs backwards just to get closer to the boy in front of him. A smirk appeared on Pan’s face as he tilted his head slightly and parted his lips once more.

“I believe I may have just thought of the perfect payment.”

The boy threaded his hand through Killian hair, slowly craning his neck forward so that his mouth aligned with the Captain’s ear.

“Give me your clothes.”

Killian shot back, slamming himself against the cave wall. He stood straight as a bolt, arms crossed protectively against his chest. 

“Oh relax princess.” Peter drawled. “I only want them as exchange.”

Killian did move. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, never straying from small puddle of water drip pooling on the rock below.

Pan stood up, sauntering towards Killian. As soon as he came within arm’s reach he felt a cold hand wrap around his neck. With a swift movement the boy pulled out from his pocket a blade sharper than his wit and pushed it into Killian's neck.

"Stupid." He growled, tracing the knife down to the neckline of his shirt.

Pan could feel Killian tense up under him as he sawed the fabric off him. As soon as he was stripped Pan disappeared once again taking all of the Captain's clothes and the meal he had offered with him.

Soon another platter of food appeared in front of, however it was not the cooking he had wished for. Unlike that used to taunt him before, it was covered in the simplest of things, a split coconut, and poorly cooked fish split open, alongside a small cup of rum. This plate was certainly no trick. He ate quickly, wishing to only be exposed for as short a time as possible. 

He tried to channel the same fury that filled him when Peter had come, but he could not bring himself to concentrate on vengeance when he in such a pitiful state. Instead he decided to return fetal position he had adapted before, attempting to hide his shame from the air around him. As the blowing breeze hit his skin like pellets he realized just how vulnerable he truly was. Whether he stood his ground or not, Pan was capable of taking everything from him and there was nothing Killian could do to stop him.


	3. White flag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pan pushes Killian too far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the kind reviews! Your words mean a lot.

Sunlight dripped over the jutting spikes of rock like honey on a stick. The largest one created a type of sundial on the ground, providing a more accurate count of time coming and time past than watching the sun rise and set had been. Killian found it almost relaxing to stare it, willing it to move and for the next day to bring new hope to his situation. Rage still burrowed inside him. Less so when he learned Pan would keep his promise of daily food, bathing, and water; however no matter how comfortable it may be, any life in chains is no life at all. Supplies would appear at random times in the day giving him no knowledge of when his next meal would come and go. At first he believed this to be Peter’s uncaring nature, but as time passed Killian began to think the erratic pace of Pan’s attention to him may be intentional. That maybe it was a desperate attempt to make Killian think Peter was not as invested in him as he truly was. 

Much like the nourishment, Pan came and went as well. He spoke with Killian often. The conversation always began rather animated on Peter’s end although as they continued and he noticed Killian would not give, the boy slowly would become more enraged and leave, although not before he degraded Killian at least once. A quick kick the shit, some spit in his eye, or perhaps a grip around his cock so tight it made the Captain yelp. It was something new each time. 

Every passing moment Killian was alone his attention would be once again directed to the shadow formed by the towering stone in front of him. The longer he looked at it the more he would forget. Sometimes he would stare so much he would start to imagine he was back out at sea. The dreams were so vivid it was almost goading. How Killian longed to be rid of his shame, to be once again clothed, free, and above all whole. 

Maybe it came with being stripped, or the abuse or maybe it came with the simple fact that his kidnapper looked something like an 8 year old; whatever it was it was wearing Killian down. He felt as if pieces of him were being broken off; pieces of his sanity, pieces of humanity, pieces of his sense of self and sense of justice. Peter was chipping away at him, breaking down his conscience.

There was one thing, however, that he could not touch. Killian’s imagination still remained forever the same. Fantasies and dreams became his escape, a secret door swung open when the real world became too treacherous to bear. All he had to do was watch his sundial tick away the hours. 

Killian was just about to board the Jolly Roger when Peter’s knife sliced through his reverie. Brusquely broought back to real world, Killian wasn’t sure whether to scowl or cry. 

“Good morning.” Peter smiled, wandering aimlessly around the cave. “How are you today?”

Their conversation’s always started with pointless small talk. Pan would attempt to coax an answer out of Killian and usually receive a small nod or a one worded answer. This time Killian simply kept his eyes fixed on his rock and the calming shadow it created.

“Not even gonna look at me today?” He scoffed, mockingly throwing his hands to his chest as if he was offended. “I know I’ve been a bit busy lately - but you can’t honestly expect you to be number one priority?” Peter was lying through his teeth at this and they both knew it. 

“Stop it. Look at me!” He was angry now. “You know this is no fun unless you at least acknowledge me.”

Killian did not stray his gaze.

“Is this what you’re looking at? A stupid little rock.” Pan placed his finger on its pointy tip, still drawing no attention from Killian. “Well it’s certainly getting more love than I am. I guess we’ll have to do something about tha-.” He barely finished his sentence before his foot smashed down on the shard.

For a moment Killian felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The same hypnotic silence swept his mind as did when he was physically harmed. He watched as Peter through a tantrum, screaming like a toddler as he stomped over and over, each time breaking off more of the last thing that made Killian feel whole. A fire burnt inside of him, flames licking the exterior shell he had used to disguise his sadness, his disgust, his rage.

He could only hide inside himself for so long, and slowly he became aware.

Pulling at the chains he sprung up onto to his feet lashing out his arms in violent chaotic motion. He was loud too; screaming Peter’s name until his throat was dry. He tugged at his restraints with all the force he could muster, swearing while he did that as soon as he was free he would choke every bit of life out of the boy. It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t have to.

When the last of it was gone Killian froze. He became shockingly aware of how utterly useless pitching a fit had been. He had begged, he had threatened, he had done everything in his power to stop it and Peter had still be able to destroy Killian’s source of serenity in a swift paroxysm of childish anger. That was it for him. Peter’s hand had been dancing around the light switch in his mind, tickling the connecting circuits with a pair of wire cutter for days on end - but now he had finally managed to turn it all off. He had completely powered down whatever what still left of the Killian he knew before. Now there was only darkness. 

He had gotten what he wanted at least. The captain stared straight at him, a blankness in his gaze as if there was no man behind the eyes at all. His arms were at his sides, his wrist facing towards Peter and his legs spread. It was an act of submission, a white flag of sorts. He showed no regard to the vulnerability of his position, no awareness how pitiful he looked standing completely nude. 

Peter could not believe what he was seeing. He had wanted Killian to look at him but not like this, never like this. Pan watched as the man, once strong and untouchable dropped to his knees. 

“Now, no need to get down on your knees there..” He spoke softly, a small laugh following his words. “All I wanted was for you to look at me”   
When no reply was received he began to get desperate.

“Dumb fucking pirate.” His voice was dripping with disdain. “Can you do anything right!?”

A small noise came from Killian. 

“I surrender. I’m done. I’m…” He trailed off, taking a long breathe before continuing. “I’m yours.” With that he dropped to ground completely curling in on himself.

This was not the Killian Peter had wished for. He would certainly have to do something about this. He quickly disappeared, only to reappear moments later, holding something very close to his chest.

“Killian, darling. I have a present.” He held out a crème colored candle and a small box of matches. “You can light them whenever you, you’ll have complete control over them.” 

Peter pushed the objects towards him but he refused. “Don’t worry, take them. I’ll never take this away from you. I swear it, I made a mistake before but these- these are yours.” 

Warily he held out his hands receiving Pan’s present. He glanced down at them then back at Peter. A pair of lips pressed to his forehead and a hand wrapped around his neck. 

“Goodnight Killian” Came a whisper. 

And with that he was once again alone. Although this time was different. This time he had a candle, his candle. 

Maybe he wasn’t so alone after all.


	4. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter offers shelter from a storm raging around them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks to everyone for the kudos and reviews. I'm glad you like it. Let me know if you have any questions, concerns, and/or comments.

Killian felt powerful. With a simple flick of his wrist he could create fire, he could watch it burn out with the night, or time his breathing with his candle’s dancing wick, he could even press it up against his skin and watch it sear through the flesh, pain seeping inside of his body. This was unlike anything he had experienced since he first broke his and Peter’s deal. This was control. 

He didn’t dare light the matches though. 6 days had gone and the most he had done was stare at them, musing about their capabilities. This sense of self was so rejuvenating he was willing to do anything to hold onto it. The fire was his last tie to his old life, and god help him, he was not going to lose it. On days when it rained he would nearly kill himself protecting them. He kept them tucked in close to his chest so tight it would nearly cut off the blood flow to his hands, breathing erratically until the water stopped falling. But sometimes it didn’t stop for hours, and sometimes the wind would blow it so fiercely it forced the droplets crashing into the cave. 

It was the 26th sun since he had been relocated to the outdoors. The air was moister than usually, filling the space around Killian was dewy contentedness. He let himself enjoy the morning, bathing in the humidity and twirling his candle between his fingers. After all the weather would not stay like this forever. Climate as such often meant oncoming showers; something he dreaded terribly. He was prepared nonetheless; he had learned quickly that he could create a human shield for the matches should any stray water fall in. An hour of drizzle would be no problem for him.

The storm that came was not like this though.

Thunder boomed above him so loud the entire island could hear. Fierce lighting struck down trees and plants with bolts larger than Killian had ever seen before. And then came the rain. Not the small droplets he was used to, large crashing rain drops hitting the rock at exceptional speeds. 

For a moment Killian swore he could feel his heart stop beating. He slammed himself against the wall wheezing for air and attempting to push holes in his chest as a safe place for the matches. He twisted and turned against the chains and screamed the only name he knew could hear him. 

Peter. 

And so came the boy. 

With soothing words Pan took the matches and flew up the cave wall, tucking them into a small crevice nearly six feet about Killian’s head.

“It’s okay, they’re safe now.” Pan whispered, trying to wrap his arms around Killian’s shaking body. 

Violent sobs echoed through the cavern, harmonizing with Peter’s softer cooing. He ran a small hand through his Killian’s hair and used the other to cup his cheek. 

“Don’t cry. They’re safe.” His voice barely audible. “You’re safe.”

His coaxing did very little to comfort Killian. Still in shambles he shook more feverously than the trees outside that contorted with the wind. However as time passed Pan could feel him slowly lean more and more in to the embrace. His muscles loosened and his breathing aligned with Peter’s. They sat together, clutching each other for an hour worth of rainfall, Killian was just about calm when he felt the boy slip out of his grasp and disappeared into thin air.

Left completely alone again he felt his heart race, the rain still pounding on the hard stone surface pooling by his feet. Without the warmth of another the cold ripped through him quicker than ever before. Each whip of the wind chilled his bones and sent a jolt of pain erupting through his body. Tears welled in his eyes as he gripped his arms around himself. He never thought he would miss Peter. He never thought he’d pray to have him back, pray to have him there, sheltering Killian from the storm.

Within a minute he heard footsteps approaching. Pan had returned, this time holding a large brown blanket which he wrapped around the two of them. Neither spoke, only shared in the warmth until the rain blew over. Five hours’ worth of storm at least, although without his sun-dial it was rather difficult to tell. He tried not to think about time too much. It made him sad and sadness was certainly not something he could afford then.

When Peter departed he left the blanket behind, a small kindness Killian thought, not even considering any ulterior motives the boy may have had about the gesture. He felt an odd sense of gratitude towards Peter. As a whole he could not justify Pan’s actions, nevertheless he still appreciated the comfort today. Peter had saved his candle and in turn saved him, and for that he was more thankful than words could convey. 

He got little sleep that night, his mind restless as he tossed a turned wrapped up in the blanket. He calmed himself by clutching the candle tightly to his chest, squeezing whenever a wave on anxiety, fear, or general paranoia washed over him. This was a usual nightly affair though and was not the specific reason he could not fall asleep. For he found it rather difficult to get rest for right when his thoughts began to settle down they would always drift back to one specific thing:

Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I'm writing this for a friend who is also writing for me however she says she's on 'hiatus' so no updates from her for about 2 weeks ( Don't worry, I'm still publishing regular chapters). Anyways, point of saying that is she kind of promised a oneshot to me to help me through the break and I'm hoping an early posted chapter will speed that up a bit (I've got a hankering for a Jon Snow au right now)
> 
> Sorry. Rambling. I know.


	5. Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian becomes attached, Peter becomes addicted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not 100% convinced that anyone besides the friend I'm writing for is reading this.  
> I'm pretty sure she's just leaving reviews under different screen-names and hitting refresh multiple times so it looks like I got more hits. 
> 
> Oh well, whether you guys are real or not I still appreciate you. Keep leaving your reviews, I love to hear what you think.

It had soon dawned on Killian that unlike the candle the blanket had not been a gift. He would have to pay for what had been provided and had to money to give. When Pan came swaggering into the cave that night Killian knew exactly what he was there for. His voice boomed through the cavern with the authority of someone whose never been questioned about its rightfulness. It was a greeting Killian began used to from the boy, his meek stature contrasting greatly with the giant-like persona he wore. 

Today- however- was different. 

He walked with an extra bit of vigor in his step that could only signify an arousing anticipation of actions to come. 

Peter was wary at first, asking him whether he remembered what Pan had made him do back in the cellar. He made several subtle references to the words he had chosen after he had finished using Killian. Something along the lines how useful Killian would be to him, if Peter’s memory didn’t falter. Although after the hectic month that had come to pass he wouldn’t blame himself for being forgetful. 

When Killian did not take to his hints he switched to a different approach.

He slipped off his trousers and tiptoed forwards, wrapping a hand around the soft skin that connected Killian’s jaw to his neck. Where he placed his grip signified dominance however the lack of pressured placed gave it a more familiar touch.

Neither of them spoke. Pan had worry in his eyes like he was afraid a wrong word could stop them, stop him. He had a right to this fret as well. 

Normally Killian would have fought back, kick and scream cry for help even if he knew none would come; this time he only obeyed. Maybe it was the wear and tear of the 28 days baking in tropical heat or maybe it was the burst of compassion Pan recently showed he was capable of; but something had split him open. A large crack traced down him revealing the fleshy underbelly of his spirit. Peter had came and smashed the man to bits in a fit of rage.

If only fits of rage lasted forever. 

Soon the storm blew over and Pan saw what he had done. He desperately tried to put them back together frustration growing when they wouldn’t fit, he build Killian up but in all the wrong ways and now there was no going back. 

With the slightest tug he pulled the Captain’s head further and further until he was touching the tip of Peter’s cock. Killian parted his lips ever so slightly, a silent question he didn’t have the guts to vocalize. He received nod from Pan and proceeded with what he believed was wanted of him. A master’s order don’t always have to be spoken, if one knows there keeper well enough an inaudible understanding can be reached. Peter only hoped Killian knew him like this.

Pan decided docility was not a good look on the man. Peter’s length in his mouth however, was certainly something he could get used to. 

Perhaps it was simply because of he who was doing it, but there was something that made this moment feel far sweeter than he remembered it had been with anyone else. Watching Killian take him in completely sent swirls of bliss dancing through his mind. It was all so real, every touch, every breath, every flick of the tongue. Neither Peter nor Killian had ever been so aware of their senses. 

Peter smelt dampness and sweat, sensuality in the air none could deny.

Killian tasted skin and salt, a raw warmth that filled him completely.

Peter felt a human connection, an amatory spark that electrified the air.

Killian heard Peter’s rhyme moaning, each louder than the previous

Peter saw the man he loved, giving himself completely. He saw him loving Peter back. 

Pan redressed himself when they were done and wrapped the blanket around Killian. He caught a ‘thank you’ before it slipped past his tongue, reminding himself there was neither a desire nor a need to thank him. It should have been Killian who was saying ‘thank you’ he thought, but decided to save the issue for another sun’s light.  
Peter was companioned by a brimming sense of contentment easing him through the rest of the day. He had forgotten what it felt like to be so close to Killian, to touch in such an intimate fashion. It was rejuvenating. It had energized his weary spirit and reminded him why had taken the man prisoner in the first place. What surprised him the most though was how addictive the experience was. Hours passed since he saw Killian and visions still crowded his mind. Weighing his options Peter decided that there was no other way to calm his need, he would simple have to visit Killian again the next day.

And visit he did. 

He made a habit of these interactions, the same routine day after day and it still never got old. He barely let himself or Killian speak before undressing and forcing the man on him.  
Killian was never allowed his blanket when Peter was there. He was required to be completely vulnerable; a not-so-guilty pleasure of Peter’s being raking his eyes of the Captain’s uncovered body. He would memorize every detail, every strand of hair, every flexing muscle, every skin discoloration. Peter thought him to be the most beautiful creature created, a notion he would never admit out loud but could not deny in the privacy of his thoughts.

He would never speak of how much he loved it. 

It would ruin the illusion consent on the matter. As much as he enjoyed pretending, deep down he knew this was this was not mutually wanted. He was literally forcing himself on Killian, and as much he hated to think it, that bothered him terribly. And so each day when Peter was done he would leave Killian alone as fast as he could, not wanted to the look on his captive’s face after he was defiled once again.

The expression he was missing was not one of a certain emotion. It was rather a mix of conflicting feelings that caused a great weight to pull down Killian’s shoulders. He was broken to submission no doubt, yet there was still a part of his old self that understood what was happening. That was part was triggered day after day causing more destructive thoughts to prey on him in the dark. 

Guilt. Fear. Sadness. Rage.

It all came in waves of crippling negativity that plagued his already sensitive conscience. Each day new holes in his soul were chipped and hollowed, holes that – unknown to Peter- could never again be filled. There was one thing however that gave him comfort. 

His candle

No matter what Peter did, what he forced Killian to do, there was always one this he had control over. On his 36th day in the cave he lit a match. Afraid of the unpredictable will of the winds he quickly tapped it to the candle’s wick and wrapping himself around it. He would protect his flame at all costs that night. 

The glow was memorizing, the way it danced so freely. It was chaotic yet predictable with its flowing movement. Killian believed he had never seen something so beautiful. It etched visions of his old life of the back of his mind where they would be tucked away in a crevice of serenity. The fire was his and he was the fire’s. Symbiotically codependent, each was equally as reliant on the other.

Suddenly the cave was not so dark, the air not so damp, and the isolated loneliness that burrowed in his chest not so burdening.

The unpredictable tragedy of his life so far had been replaced by a stable routine. He doubted he would be ever be thankful for his chains but for a brief second he could be thankful – not of anything in particular- just thankful. A frightening sense of harmony surrounded him. It whispered words of fate, terrifying notions that his life so far had all just been leading up to this. 

Destiny, something Killian had never specifically believed in but was not necessarily opposed to. The idea tempted him. He knew he could never believe it was bound between the pages of the universe that he was to be servant to Pan, however the affinity he felt for the candle in that moment was far stronger than anything he had experienced prior.  
He let his eyelids droop at time ticked by, tapping out the fire as soon as the sky grew dark enough to sleep. He would have limit his time to watch each day if wanted the candle to last. 

Killian curled himself into his blanket, and began to imagine all the different ways the sea was saying goodnight to the shore as he drifted into slumber. He hardly even realized the smile that formed on his face in dreary stupor. 

That night he slept soundly, accompanied by dreams of a wick, a flame, a sandy-haired boy and other treacherous things he was learning to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven't gotten my Jon Snow AU.


	6. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is blind, the sun is suspicious, Killian is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I ever mentioned how much I love every single person who is reading this? You all are wonderful and make my day. Keep giving me your feedback, beautiful humans.

With time emptiness came back to him. The routine they fell into was comforting at first but as time passed it became monotonous. The vicious cycle of restriction that Killian’s life was placed upon turned into an endless wake-up call to reality. It seemed to be as though the more happiness that was brought to Peter had been taken away in equal from Killian.

This was doubtfully full coincidence.  
The things that brought joy to Peter appeared not to be the most morally sound. Sadistic, was a word that came to mind. Traditional pleasures bored him so he opted for other sources of enjoyment- less ethical so to speak. This certainly did not come as a shock to Killian, it was somewhat expected from someone who was given thousands of years to stew in their juices. As they say, old age brings bitterness out of us all.

This macabre persona was in no way like Killian. They had both began this mess from two very different starting points. Their journey, however, was nearly identical. 

It was a bold kind of symmetry between the Peter and Killian, parallels in their mental well-beings grew with each touch. They we’re both slipping. Each harbored a mutilated mindset which rot in their thoughts, and a sinking unsureness that numbed the part of their brain capable of answering their own questions.

Within two month of repetition neither of them knew who they were.  
Peter became reliant on the power high he had attached himself to when he would dominate Killian. His wit grew stale and his motivation fled. He was as much a captive to his own actions as was Killian. Pan dreamt of the man every night, Killian filled his thoughts in all areas of the mind- even the ones Peter was not capable of controlling. He would get scared when he wasn’t in the cave, like If he left for long enough the next time he went back Killian would be gone- inexplicablely disappeared. So each night he saw him he silently swore more of his soul off in secret code to the devil. Promised another half his whole to make certain he and Killian would last another miniscule eternity.

In all Peter’s worrying he completely overlooked the feelings of the other person involved. He romantized the idea of codependency to the point where he tricked himself out of knowing Killian was still in chains. Any love was complete deception. Empathy had always been foreign to Pan – but never before like this. This was the first time he let himself slip so much that he completely dehumanized an actual man.

With each day it sliced more and more away at Killian. He was becoming timid, and docile - two words that could not have described his old self by any stretch of the definition. Above all however he no longer saw the same gleam of hope he used to, the positivity he wore like armor in regular day had been chipped down. All was planned from the beginning with Peter, he wanted to watch Killian break; tear apart the shell that guarded who he truly was beneath. Plans however do not always work as expected.

It was only when it was too late that Peter realized what he was doing.  
He was not turning Killian into someone different, he was destroying him. He took away his will, his right to choose, his literal freedom, what was left wasn’t a man at all. It was living and breathing, sure - but it knew only two things:

Peter and the candle.

Possibly the worst part however was the fact that both of them knew things could never be as they were again. Change can be reversed, demolition however cannot.  
In the beginning Peter had wished for a more submissive Killian, someone who would not break promises they made, someone who would never betray him. What he got was nothing. Not better, not worse, just nothing. 

Peter had already visited and left that day, coming earlier in the afternoon with a claim that he had other affairs to tend to. It had been a break in the routine: Killian did not like breaks in their routine. 

He had just lit the candle, Pan's absence causing a sinking sense of loneliness and fragility to paralyze his movements. The flame was the only thing that could calm his roaring mind - aside from Peter's approval of course. 3 matches used, 17 left. Numbers that make his heart ache so painful it felt like it was being bound and squeezed. 

He would not concentrate on that now, though. 

Sunlight grew dim with the fading hours, although it's last strands still pierced through the trees even when Killian felt it should not. It was as if it was holding on the horizon, gripping with its last might so as to keep the night away. There was something suspicious about the darkness that evening, something both the light and Killian seemed to recognize. It did it's best to stay up for him but not even the sun could hold on and soon it fell far below the visible crust; leaving Killian once again completely alone.

Until he wasn't.

Within minutes he looked up to see a figure in the arched slope of the cavern. Shadowy and ominous its limbs hung from a slim torso as if each had been cracked at the joint. He had a presence that seemed larger than the area in which he stood, a daunting assertiveness that reminded him of Peter.

But this was not Peter.

Peter was the mind. This man was the fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my Jon Snow AU and another AU as well plus my friend is off her hiatus for the regular fic. So yay for me. I've got a lot of wonderful reading to do.


	7. D minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skin is ripped, blood is spilled, and a storm hits the sea and causes a calamity in the form of candle wax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks to everyone who kudos and reviews. I love you all.

When moonlight cast on the figure’s face Killian immediately recognized him. Somewhere deep in the hollows of his mind this man’s image was buried away. He was all bone and skin, sloping features and a gaunt complexion that hide him from shadows. A mess of damp blonde hair fell down in front of his eyes, hooding the pools of grey that boar an unparalleled chill. 

His legs wobbled as he walked towards Killian, extra pressure pushing down on his knees from the drunken slouch he wore. He stank of stale liquor and salted sweat, each odor radiating an unsettling warmth throughout the chasm. Worry set in Killian’s mind, this mess of a man was intruding on his land and he had not the means to protect it. He was not worried about himself, only his candle. 

Quickly he shoved it behind him, running his fingers along the wall until he came across a small hole. He slipped the matches in first then made an attempt with the candle. This hiding spot had never helped him before being far too close the ground to offer proper shelter from rain and water however it may be just enough to conceal it. If only the crack was bigger. As the man got closer he began to panic, his breathe deepening as he turned over to push with more force. With one last slam the candle scraped into the hole causing Killian to wince at the extra shaving of wax which had fallen off in small white curls. He hardly had time to beat himself up before a hand clasped on to his shoulder and flipped him over. 

Felix, was his name. Head of the lost boys and Peter’s right-hand man, he was loyal, gritty, and unbelievably unpredictable. And now he was staring down at Killian like he was a wolf observing its prey. Only this time, there was no hunting required. 

“Now I see where he’s been running off to.” He traced the back of his fingers along Killian’s cheek, letting his thumb linger before dropping them off. “I must say you do look ravishing in chains.”

Killian didn’t fight his gaze, made no attempts to turn away or hide himself. Submission was what he knew, what he was taught to give. 

He wanted to ask if Peter had sent him but as soon as he spoke up a cold hand struck across his face.

“Did I say you could speak?” Felix leant back into his stance and pulled his arms up in disgust, clenching his fist into loose balls. “Hm?” 

His reaction alone was answer enough to Killian’s question. Peter was what protected him, Peter would never send someone to hurt him, he thought. He shook his head slowly, fixating his eyes on the ground and slumping his spine.

“He hasn’t got you very well trained has he?” Felix huffed touching the toe of his boot to Killian’s chin. “I mean I like the whole the set up here, but what’s the use of a slave if it doesn’t know its place.” 

Before Killian could think he began to speak once again; he wanted to make an attempt at defending Peter’s honor from such harsh words. The same pain struck his left cheek and then again on his right - the second more sharp and boney than the first. This was enough to send him spiraling back into the same nothingness he had become accustom to. 

From then on Felix would have no more interruptions from Killian – he was at sea.

“I may have to teach you some manners, show you who’s boss, maybe show Peter what I can do – what I can be.” This matter of speech was so usual for him. Constantly seeking Peter’s approval, he was. Felix never accepted himself to be Pan’s henchman – he wanted to be more. Through different acts of loyalty and bravery he would attempt to prove himself as something greater. Peter never even seemed to notice.

Yanking him by the hair Felix forced Killian onto all fours and circled around him. 

“Y’ must be used to this by now.” He said placing hands on Killians hips. “He’s been whoring with you for months.”  
Killian was too far away to tell him he was wrong.

In swift motions he stripped himself bare, and gripped his hands like claws on the small of Killians lower back. He received no fight back from the man below, no whimper or refusal . Killian knew what was about to come to pass and certainly was not okay with it however the part of him that was able to protest had been broken off long ago.

He would simply have to be content clawing himself out from the inside. 

Far deeper than Felix could see his mind thrashed violently. What was happening was neither right to his new self nor’ would it have been to the old him destroyed long ago. Peter was going to be angry he had no doubt, should he find out someone had used what was his Pan’s rage would match no other. Killian had seen what his tantrums could amount to, such boiling anger and destructive actions; he could only imagine what it was going to be like that time. Had Killian not been worn down in such ways he might have been afraid .

“This might hurt a little.” Remarked Felix, tightening his grip.

With a swift motion Felix slammed himself into Killian from behind, pain surging through his body with the force of lighting on metal. Ripping at the skin inside him he felt Felix pound his cock dry as a bone up him. As soon as it was in he pulled back, skin gripping skin and making Killian believe he was being torn apart. The motion was chaotic and erratic, forcefully pushing in and out of him with sharp grips. The agony was worse than anything he had felt before. Behind him Felix too grit his teeth. He was making desperate attempts to push pleasure through the pain – after all such coarse contact ought to be extremely uncomfortable on both ends.

But he didn’t stop.

Just when Killian thought it could get no worse he heard the sound of rain droplets tapping against the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to slip away somewhere else but even the sea was stormy that day. Within moments rain began to pool around where his palm pressed to rock. But when Killian opened his eyes he saw no water – only blood. Deep red pools swirled around his fingers dancing to the tune of sorrow and torment which played in a music box D minor throughout the cave. 

It was then that Killian’s mind finally gave up.

Everything around him went black , he felt no more, heard no more, saw no more. Slumped on the ground unconscious he remained, while what he believed to be thick red liquid pooled around his head. Killian was not there when Felix came inside of him, Killian was not there when the side of his head was nearly kicked in because Felix realized he had passed out, and he certainly was not there when Peter found him violate, fucked and broken.

He was there however- to feel Peter’s wrath


	8. Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good fairy tales have monsters, don't they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is kind of short. I felt the need to update because my friend updated hers early as well.

When Peter found him he appeared dead. A severe gash mutilated the side of his head, exposing flesh and muscle and vein all soaked in red. Blood trickled down his thighs and pooled around him mixing with the translucent rain water that dusted the floor. His hands were balled hard as diamond like a man post mortem. 

Peter immediately rushed to his side, flipping him onto his back and pressing for a pulse. There was heartbeat – slow and dull – but a heartbeat none the less. Attempting to keep composure, Peter was gone in a flash returning with hands full of bandages, half empty bottles of alcohol, and a small canteen that sloshed water back and forth with his steps. 

Killian awoke to a throbbing sting as Peter poured strong scented liquor on his wound. His skull was then wrapped tightly in fabric to stop the blood from gushing out too quickly.

Killian’s head drummed far too fiercely for him to orientate himself however he was once again fully aware of his senses - the pain in particular. 

“Drink.” Peter handed Killian the canteen. “I’ve got you.” 

Peter wrapped his arms around Killian like mother with child. They each pushed further into the embrace with each passing moment. Slowly Peter petted his hand through Killian’s hair, watching him as he fazed back into reality. It took him a while to regain awareness, the blood-loss and trauma had done quite a number to his mental state. When he was capable of stringing thoughts he began to wonder why Peter did not seem more upset. Surely he should be enraged by now, Killian being his property and all he would usually not take someone else using it this well.

“Storm must have hit here worse. Whatever debris hit you got you hard.” Peter spoke softly, his voice light and airy in a calming coo. 

Killian knew then why he was not getting upset. The storm that hit while he was out had been far worse than he had originally imagined. Rock and wood tossed up by the rain rocketed and slammed into unsuspected Neverland inhabitants; some was even scattered around the cave, the winds having curved at the perfect axis to launch it in to their hidden crevice. Peter was under the belief that Killian had been knocked out by some anonymous flying projectile. He didn’t spend a second doubting otherwise, and Killian was not about to inform him of the truth.

“It was awful” He replied pushing himself further into the fabric of Peter’s shirt.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. I should have been here to protect you, I knew it was stupid to lea-.” Peter stopped mid-thought; his word fell off like rocks on a cliff. It was then that he noticed the blood on Killian thigh. 

“Killian.” Peter spoke, breathless and still. “What have you got-.”

Killian could feel his heart pound in his throat. He was still too weak pull away and rather he lay rigid while Peter circled his fingers in the gooey red liquid. Slowly he traced his fingers up its trail reaching the source of the bleeding. Killian silently prayed they’d both drop dead.

Nails gripped down hard on his skin causing to push with all his might away – the shot of pain working as a surge of adrenaline.

“What the hell of you done?” Peter’s hand pulled tight on his hair forcing Killian onto his knees. “You little liar.” 

His tongue was sharper that Killian had ever heard. He tried to look away but his grip was too hard. 

“Who did this to you, you whore!” With the last word he spat straight into Killian’s eyes, causing him to wince and pull back again. It was an entire new form of degradation to him. 

“Felix.” He choked, trying not to focus on the pain or the fear or the humiliation – all things he was supposed to have been conditioned out of.

“Do not lie to me!” He pulled Killian head inches from his as he shouted loud as thunder to into his ears. 

Peter slammed Killian head on the rock pulling back and raising his foot ready to kick at his sides all the places most tender.

“Please god, I’m not lying – I swear it.” Killian begged as he squeezed his eyes shut terrified of what would happen next. 

Peter dropped to a squat, silent as the night. His hands raked offer his sinking face, tracing around the blue circles under his eyes. “Why would you let him do this to you?” He whispered his back hunching more and more with each word.

Killian attempted to speak but Pan cut him off before he could. 

“You’re mine, you’re supposed to be all mine.” At this he was more reminding himself then he was Killian. “This is your fault, Killian. This has to be your fault.” 

Killian didn’t move only stared in anticipation; chilled by the volatility of the man in front of him. 

‘Man’. He used that word so much when he thought of Peter now. It used to be boy before chains and then beast when the torture first begun. However now he saw the truest side of him - the side that was neither boy nor beast, but simply man. Man: lonely and scared, angry and confused, a beautifully flawed creature in Killian’s eyes. It could be argued that Peter’s aggressive tendencies were something lower than human but Killian was far too loyal to think that. He saw Peter as whole, no matter rain or shine, abuse of comfort, Killian thought that he was the perfect specimen. If only Peter knew this.

The both remained still for moments, each curling in on themselves in their own separate ways. When Peter finally spoke up it was not in fury or in wrath; simply in question - curious and muddled

“Why has this happened, Killian? Answer me this, please.” It was almost as if he was the one begging now. 

Peter stared down at his hand painted with small dots of Killian’s blood, as he waited patiently for some kind, any kind of answer. And then Killian spoke.

“Explores used to believe there were monsters on this island. Now they don’t.” He whispered, voice slow and sure…“But that doesn’t the monsters aren’t still here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 things for everyone to remember:
> 
>  
> 
> You all are wonderful. I love you. Keep reviewing.


	9. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian decides that he is the reason everything burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry this is late and short. Exams are a bugger. I'll be better about updating after this Thursday.

Killian didn’t remember much. He assumed Peter left soon after they spoke, having blocked out memories of anything passed that. Everything was still in a bit of haze for him when he awoke; surreal so to speak. He knew he couldn’t possibly have dreamt up such chaotic menagerie of events, however in his already fragile state Killian found it difficult to sort such things out. He would phase in and out of awareness during such plights of folly, the ripping screams and pain causing him to sink deeper into his non-existent shell. 

Still plagued will dull aches in a rather wide variety of places he slowly scooted himself into the furthest bit of the cave. He noted that rain water still pooled on the floor submerging a vast portion of it. Curling up against the wall his senses began to come back to him; however as the day progresses an odd pang of frustration burrowed in his chest. This little nagging whisper told him he was forgetting something. Something dire and precious, something only scum would forget. He tried his best to block out the voice but soon it escalated. The whispering became talking and the talking became shouting. His mind felt like it was shattering and there was absolutely nothing he could to do to stop it. The voice rang through him like a telephone line with a thousand different calls all being transmitted. Shouting curses upon curses about his failure to remember to the one most important thing. 

It was then he felt something brush up against his bare back.

It was too smooth for rock, sticking out of the walls in what felt to be an almost perfect cylinder shape. Suddenly the voice stopped and Killian felt something catch in his throat. He ripped his body around at a speed violent enough to cause whiplash and grabbed at the thing in wall. With a motion quick and swift he pulled it out of its hold. Littered with dust and dirt, sat in his hands was a candle. His candle.

Of all the times Killian had to coax himself out of hurling this was by the worst. He something bubble inside him, an acidic type pain crawled up and down his stomach lining. Killian clutched the candle to chest, heaving for breath. He lost controls over his muscles and gravity pulled him down onto the ground, slamming his back hard against the rock.  
He spewed curses about himself both out loud and in his mind. Verbal abuse was being shouted at him from all ends. How could he forget about the one item most important? He didn’t deserve the right to possess such a thing, he thought amidst the profanity and sobs. He was useless, worthless, a failure and a whore. If he was so incompetent that he could let his candle scrap away inside some rock, who’s to say he wasn’t responsible for Felix taking him. Who’s to say that every shit circumstance that rampaged their days wasn’t all his fault? He then understood why Peter was angry, he understood when Felix was sinful, he understood why the gods cursed rain and lighting onto the land. It was all his fault.

He walked among monsters and mayhem and yet in his mind he still stood scummier than them all.

He pondered ways of escaping the wreck as a hole – suicide, some would say it, although the word stuck on his tongue like age old honey. Alas there were no tools to commit in his midst. A rock might do however there always was the chance of it resulting in enough blunt force trauma to knock him out but not enough to reach death. In fact any form of killing himself that was not certain to result in death was far too risky. If Peter were to find out he even considered leaving him the punishment that would ensue would be far worse than any pain he’d experienced.

However perhaps death was not the only way of escape. 

He had already failed his candle; he could not bear to let Peter end up the same. Killian decided he would have to rid Peter of himself, for the sake of the better good. Once he was out in the wild he could easily take his own life away from watching eyes. No one would ever have to know what became of Killian Jones, only that the burden of his presence was relieved. 

If only he could be rid of his chains.

-

Killian spent days devising his plan. With each passing sun he clutched his candle tighter whispering promises that when he was away he would no longer be able to cause such harms. Even in his hazed state he was able to observe his surrounding with intense eyes and determine every possible variable. He spent little time eating or sleeping, and attempted his best to be overly eager when Peter made Killian touch him - the sooner he could be done with their daily visit the sooner he could go back to focusing on getting out. He swore to the moon each night that Peter would be better off without him and that no more havoc would rip through Neverland when he was gone. 

The idea of mortality tinkered with him in his sleep. Much like the flame which he watched so dearly he too would one day burn out. He attached himself greatly to it, one of the many reasons he found such solace from the candle in the first place. Fire was the most destructive of elements, capable of shredding peace to smithereens without so much as a warning. Men tried to tame the flames, wanting to tap into its powers; no one even thought twice about what they were up against then. For these brave men never truly saw the beast to which they faced until their skin rot off their face, their eyes boiled out of the sockets, and their minds were scorched ablaze. But of course by then it was far too late.  
Good people burnt at the hands of fire and good people were burning at the hands of Killian. The only difference between them was he was not about to let anyone meet such a fate via his flames. 

Killian refused to let Peter burn to keep himself warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review, my darlings. Always review.


	10. Martyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian is prepared to die for his cause. Peter isn't prepared at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm think of bringing Emma Swan into the next chapter. Do you guys think I should?

The day came sooner than he had expected. No more procrastination could be done, every variable accounted for, all perturbation suppressed. He felt the fire lick higher with each passing sun. That which rose today only assured more fret if he did not take action. It reminded him of the promises he made in secret between weeps; the ones he was not about to break with the same poisoned betrayal he found so prominent in himself. 

The rolling heat that pushed sweat out his pores told him afternoon had come when it was there. Peter arrived in the same fashion that decorated their monotonous routine. He swaggered with dumb self-assurance and a slumped smile that told Killian he knew not a thing of what had been planned. For a brief moment, if not a second, Killian would have given his soul to stop time. Like the calm before a storm no waves crashed on their shore that second. No one hurt and no one cried. They were together, each convinced fully and blindly that everything they ever needed filled that second like blood in veins. But thunder cracked in Killians mind, a hurricane of curses brewed in the wake of his thoughts. 

A second cannot last forever, and neither could they.

That day Killian touched Peter like he was whole. Every caress, every contact, was soft and warm and everything they weren’t. The heat that radiated among them lingered just a little longer than it usually did, as if it too did not want time to tick. But time did not listen to the tides of man, and so it ticked. And when Peter was most vulnerable Killian knew it had finally came.

Tears curled down his face, but he was frozen. He used every bit of his energy to hold it inside of him. Cheeks dampened as Peter threw his head back in pleasure and release. As soon as Killian’s lips were free he spoke for one last time. Amidst the menagerie of sensation that filled the cave he stammered out an apology. Peter didn’t have time to even look down before he felt a chain wrap around his neck. 

Cold metal pulled against Peter’s throat and salty water dropped on his face. He scratched his legs at the ground and flailed in every direction possible, but Killians grip was tight as iron. Apology upon apology filled the room, Killian still sobbing loudly and swearing absently. As soon as Peter grew weak Killian released his grip and slammed his fist down onto the side of Pan’s head, knocking him out. 

Killian dropped with him, hitting the ground with a loud wheeze. He knew he had not much time before Peter awoke, however he could not with all force get himself off the ground. He cursed like the sailor he used to be on that floor, salty water pooling around his face. Killian slammed his has down on the ground and kicked his legs like a child during a tantrum. He called out to the wind, wailing a repetitive “Why?” until his voice grew hoarse. But as the nothingness set in he slowed to a stop and laid motionless wallowing in anger and shame, and bit down on his tongue until blood pooled in his mouth. 

That fit could not last forever though and as soon as he was calmed he remembered why he gotten this far. Killian had a fire to put out and the longer he waited the harsher it burned. 

With a sharp push he got himself up and dug his hand into Peter’s left pocket. For many days an oddly shaped lump had sat in that pocket, occasional metal ring poking out the top. There was only one thing that could be in there. Keys. 

One ring. 5 keys. 

With trembling fingers he shoved each one into his shackles, none working until the third. When his wrists were free he spared little time stretching. The rush of adrenaline from remembering his purpose still poisoned his body. He pushed himself across the cave, grabbing his candle and the matches he had left there. Something stopped him before he left completely though. The same little voice that had haunted him before came back. This time it calmly asked him a question. 

“Do you really think you deserve those.” It said.

Killian froze suddenly, staring down to the objects in hand. In his mind he did not deserve them, not in a thousand years would be he be righteous enough to hold such precious of a thing. He took them in a fit of blithe, sheltered from reality for a short moment. He knew what he had to do. He knew who the candle truly belonged to.

Quietly he crept back over to where Peter laid, tears still falling from his eyes. Not even able to look he turned his head away and tucked the candle and the matches under Peter's arm. He wished to speak, to say something meaningful that would make himself feel okay, but no words were produced. He simply stood with a shaking lips and drooping eyes that said ‘I’ve sinned more than you could in 18 lifetimes’. 

With long strides Killian forced himself out of the cave. The image of the two things he loved most still fresh in his mind. Bright rays of sun hit him hard on the face, having not been completely out in the open for months now. He had forgotten what it felt like to be free. He was able to walk anywhere he wanted, touch trees and roots should choose to, he could even go to the sea and no one could stop him. This freedom surely was not to last long. He had a mission, and flames to stop, neither of which he was prepared to forfeit. He was however going to savour it for as long as the minutes would allow. 

He wandered aimlessly for a while, his hands tracing along the trunks of trees and fingers twirling the hanging vines. He listened to the birds cawing above and watched the washing streams that curved through Neverland like embroidery along its seams. It was not all peace for Killian though; there was an uneasiness to every step he took. He did not have Peter there to protect, this worried him direly. He had become so reliant on the belief that Peter was the only thing stopping him from reaching a new level of hell. Pan’s absence there made him scared to even breathe. 

With thoughts of Peter of course came thoughts of his candle and matches too. He knew for certain they were in a better place than they could ever be with him, nonetheless he could not help but fret. His reaction mirrored greatly what a negligent father might feel leaving his children behind. He loved them too much to let them stay by his side, yet still a nagging selfishness told him they should be with him by right. 

He had not much time to lose himself in such thought for soon he found himself face to face with an outlier of a tree among the forest. This tree stood nearly 40 feet -from what he could see - above the others. Its base was what looked to be 10 feet wide from end to end. A monster of a plant, it was. Many branches sprouted from it, some even low enough for Killian to reach. Each had several vines thick as rope falling from them. 

Killian knew, in that moment, that this would be the place where he fulfilled his promise. 

He hoisted himself up onto one of the thicker branches and scooted his way to end. He wasted no time now for emotions or goodbyes. This was what had to be done; this act would put out the fire that threatened that which he loved. It was almost robotic, the way he moved. No more tears or apologies, no more lucid, fluid movement that painted his heartbreak like a picture. Now there was only rigid edges and a martyr-like demeanor that became clearer and clearer as Killian slipped a noose of vine around his neck. 

Killian tightened it to his throat and pressed his palm against the branch on which he sat. With a sharp motion he pushed himself off, back cracking as gravity pulled him down. The vine held strong and his breathe was soon caught. Survival instinct forced him to claw at his throat like a wild dog, desperately trying to scratch his reddened neck and airless head free. He kicked his legs, exhausting much of his energy, and even attempted to cry out for aid. He fought until he couldn’t fight anymore and hung limp on the vine. 

Killian was ready for death; but death did not come.

Instead someone else did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Keep reviewing!


	11. Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crime and punishment, as some may say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry this is so late. Things have been so chaotic lately I just never got around to writing, I promise I will update consistently from here on out, Once again I am so sorry!

Things went dark.

In that moment Killian could not see, nor’ hear, nor’ even think. He was engulfed in thick of sheet of nothing, and it was bliss beyond any he’d felt. No more pain, no more voices, no more of anything. The good, the bad, and the worse all fled him and ran off to haunt some other troubled mind. He had paid a large price to reach this moment, suffered through throes of depravity that he had once thought impossible, and it had finally come.

Death however is a cruel and unforgiving god, it comes often for those who don’t want it; for the young and the promising, the venerable and the unsuspecting. Occasionally people even will it to come, begging for it to take them. But death listens to no one; certainly not a whimpering pirate that can hardly even remember his name. 

-

The noose was still around Killian’s neck when he awoke. In fact it still pulled at his skin, hard and rough. He was being dragged through dirt like a loose sag of potatoes, his naked skin scraping against the jutting rocks that rose from the ground. Ahead of him was Felix, trudging through the mud with his hand clutched tightly on the vine which tied around Killian’s neck. Killian spluttered for air, ripping at his noose and kicking his legs.

“Awake?” Growled Felix, pausing for a second to turn around and look at him.

Killian scrambled at the ground attempting to get to his feet, but before he could make any progress a leather boot hit the side of his head and he was once again out cold. 

\- 

The next thing Killian knew he was lying in the center of the Lost Boys’ camp. Still not clothed he immediately tried to cover himself from the many pairs of watching eyes that circled him. Doe-eyed boys with large brown orbs stared down over him intently. None of them looked a day over 14, which made it by far even worse. He then noticed that night had set and small lanterns of flame where set around the camp. Flame- fire – candle. Word association would be Killian’s death, for soon his mind was flooded with familiar thoughts of failure. He had come so close, only to once again have everything fall apart. 

Tears began to well in his eyes as he wheezed for a breath he could not catch. Soon he was wailing like infant, rolling to his side on the hard dirt floor and scraping his nails against the ground. This of course only made the children stare more; some even leaned in closer to get a better look.

He continued like for what felt like hours. He even began to think that maybe that was the way he would stay for ever; bloody, sobbing, being gauched at by a bunch of immortal children.

Unbeknownst however during his breakdown another very dire situation was being dealt with not so far off of where he was. Peter and Felix there spoke in growls, opinions clashing like fire and ice.

“You not even going to thank me?” Felix spat at Peter, face turning a faded hue of red from the frustration and exertion. 

“Thank you for what?” Peter replied in a far more calm fashion, cocky even.

“For saving your stupid little pet.” 

“I would have found him.” Peter drawled

“He was trying to fucking kill himself.” Speaking turned to shouting and frustration turned to anger, Felix was done with dancing around the subject. “Are you really that stupid or just a cunt?”

“You’re being awfully disrespectfully.” Peter replied, sounding almost bored with their conversation. “I assure you he’ll receive adequate punishment and everything will be back to normal.”

“Normal? Nothing will be back to normal as long as he’s still here.”

“I surely hope you’re not implying what you seem to be, because I assure you that would be a dire mistake.”

“Do you even realize what I do for you?”

“Indeed.” He hummed. “ You’re a great friend.”

“Friend? You know what, fuck you Peter,” Felix pushed hand into Peter’s shoulder shoving him to the side “ and your little bitch too.” 

Felix should have stopped there, stomped off away from camp, given himself time to cool off – but he didn’t.

“What happened to you Peter? You used to be so powerful, now look at you.” He gestured towards Peter’s tired, hunched body. “ You’re not even fucking angry either. You let your prisoner escape and instead of doing something about it you're out here moping. You’re just a pathetic as he is, I hope y-“

His words were cut off by Peter fist, as he was smashed into a nearby tree with the force of a punch. Peter grabbed him up by the collar and pushed him against the wood, knocking his head a couple times for good measure.

“Do not presume –“ He spoke in short breaths, voice now boiling with a recently freed rage “ to know anything about what I am.”

With the last word he spat into Felix’s eye and threw him onto the ground with a short yell.

Peter stomped off towards the camp, fishing out Killian’s candle from his pocket and digging his nails into it.

“I’ll show you pathetic.” He mumbled to himself, still bursting with anger.

-

By the time he reached the camp he had cooled a substantial bit, the initial energy of the tantrum having worn off. He was however still filled with left over fury, dead-set on showing the rest of the Lost Boys how much of a leader he truly was. 

He pushed himself through the circle of them to get to Killian and stood up with his chest puffed high so as to make a lasting entrance.

“You think this is a game?” Peter was cold when he spoke, his words hung in the air around them like star in the sky; although stars usually didn’t have the power to hurt such as this. “You choke me, you leave me, and what this stupid fucking candle is supposed to make it all better? You’re a child Killian.”

It was that kind of irony that Killian would have laughed at once.

Once.

“I just – I don’t understand, Killan. I’ve given you everything, and you turn around and betray me?”

He dug his boots further into the dirt around them, kicking some up in Killian’s face while he stomped.

“That’s almost a crime, isn’t it?” Peter spat, turning his head to the ogling Lost Boys and watched them eagerly nod in agreement. “And a crime deserves punishment.”

Peter held his hands tight on the candle, knuckles turning white with the force of grip. With a motion so swift it hardly lasted a second Peter snapped the candle into two and threw on the ground. To further the blow he smashed his foot down to grind the pieces further into the ground.

Killian’s collapse at this was beyond one words could describe. Like gun, locked and armed the trigger was pulled and Killian had been staring down the barrel all along. His body gave out and he came crashing to ground. Killian wept like had never before, hardly enough time to breathe between sobs. When he did breathe it was loud, obnoxious, and altogether unsettling. He didn’t think in that moment, he couldn’t. He was experiencing a complete sensory overload, all he knew – by instinct – was to breakdown. And so breakdown he did – but Peter wasn’t done yet. 

“Up” Peter shouted, his foot connecting hard with Killian’s side. 

Killian scrabbled onto his knees only to be forced into a bent over position by cruel and cold hands.

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy.” Peter hissed - Killian wasn’t listening though. 

It is known that when the brain suffers an extreme trauma it is capable of shutting itself off. The person is still awake and aware when it is happening but have no recollection of it after the fact. Because humans are creatures that commonly live in the past this is one of the most effective ways of coping with situations that could be threat to mental capabilities. So was the case with Killian.

Occasionally he would get fragments. Pain, blood, screams. He remembered being violated by Peter, although in a different way than usual he was nonetheless used to such a feeling. One of the most poignant flashes of memory was that of the Lost Boys. Killian could have sworn that they pissed on him. It was by Peter’s order of course, gathered in a circle, humiliating him in just another creative way. 

After that it was just darkness; not the comforting darkness like he had felt before though. This kind of darkness was different. It was sharp and frigid, quite a contrast to the last. To Killian it felt like more of an omen than a blackout. It promised a reckoning to him, judgment to be passed.

Whomever it was to be passed upon, however, was left a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read over all the comments and I would just like to thank everyone for their great suggestions and tips. Concerning Emma Swan and Tinkerbell some people have been proposing great ideas for how I could bring either of them ( or both!) in at some point, however because I am writing this for a friend her say is final. I will definitely go over it with her and let you guys know!
> 
> Once again thanks so much for kudos and comments. Keep reading!


	12. Smithereens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is slipping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I've decided on an ending so after this one there will be two more chapters then TA-DA!

Any hope that remained between the two of them was shattered that day. No, this wasn’t like the times before, the cracks and the severed pieces that they would inevitably tape back together through conditioned ignorance. This time Killian had truly been smashed to smithereens; even if Peter so wished to rebuild him he wouldn’t even know where to begin. He wouldn’t eat, didn’t sleep, only talked when forced to and even then it was robotic, as if he was just mimicking what he believed was wanted of him. Peter kept him chained, hoping in desperation and despair that fate would be so kind as to reverse his own mistakes. For he himself had slipped too far to realize his stupidity; now he only burrowed himself deeper in his own chimera with such dumb positivity.

Peter lost contact with the Felix after their last encounter. He isolated himself from exterior contact, not even the rest of the lost boys knew of his whereabouts. In his mind they didn’t matter. There was really only one person that did to him, Killian. 

This sickness, infatuation, whatever it had evolved to be, it was making him self-destructive. He lost sight of his life, desperately repressing anything that didn’t have to do with Killian. He needed him like a fix, and god how the withdrawal symptoms kicked when he didn’t get it. The intoxication that he felt could have easily fucked up any given man, let alone one with predisposed psychotic tendencies. 

He soon realized that the broken version of Killian which slumped before him was not even to fuel his addiction. And as weeks passed he itched and itched for more. He wanted the old Killian back, the one with fight and fire and enough angry lust to burn orange through his chest. Not the coward, or the martyr, or the slave. The beasts chains that he once fancied the most impressive of trophies.

As days passed he began reaching to extremes, bringing them closer in every manner he could manage. Peter rarely left the cave, often just hovering over Killian until some new use for him came about in Peter’s mind. 

With time he grew desperate. Killian was not changing and neither was he, he no longer had his exterior life for support. His sanity now rested solely on the behavior of his one and only. When it grew stagnant, boring even, he became angry. 

Killian was rather accustom to his short spurs of emotion, however this time it wasn’t so much a typical release. This anger welled and festered inside of him, his obsessive desires causing him to bury it down and refuse a release. Eventually it was all just going to burst in a monstrous explosion. Peter feared that day and its pending arrival.

Despite the delaying power of his fret, it came sooner than he had expected; after all he always did underestimate his own volatility. 

It began slowly. His usual wining and moaning was accompanied by a less tender touch than Killian was not so much used to. He would nudge and push and altogether present a far more gruff physicality about him. As the impatience became more comfortable with releasing itself it turned into flat out pain. Peter would hit Killian across the cheek when he so fancied, he would scratch and bite and gnaw, only encouraged by Killian whimpers. Sometimes he would even begin to yell. He didn’t quite know who he was yelling at, perhaps himself or his captive, god or the wind. Either way it was always the same thing. 

“Stop hiding.”

“Come back.”

“It’s your fault.”

All phrases Killian heard day and night in screams and cries.

When the small things were no longer enough he turned to larger methods of drawing Killian out. Knife and rope, harsh and painful material that scrapped across his skin causing dead screams and cries to echo across the island – this only made Peter press harder. The more pain he caused the more of a reaction he got which was the closest thing to human Killian had been in a very long. And oh how Peter craved his old human touch. 

Eventually he began to experiment with new forms of torture. Mixing physical and sexual for an altogether emotionally traumatizing experience. He traced blades down Killian’s cock, lodged stones up his anus, and fucked him bloody each night and each morning until the blood came out so heavy that it stained Killian’s knees. It was raw and dirty and sadistic beyond belief and Peter loved every second of it. 

By far the scariest part however was that the knowledge that Killian was in excruciating pain, it didn’t even hinder him. It was like when he first began to objectify Killian, disconnecting his body and person from an actual functioning human mind, however now it was heightened. So unbelievably heightened that hearing this one whom he loved so toxic and dearly give such a sharp and harrowing scream he was filled was ecstasy. He floated on this joyous high for as long as he could but soon he was reminded that the whimpering and sobbing mess which sat before him was not Killian; that it was far from him. And so he would begin again, and again, and again. Each time becoming more and more frustrated with results which he reached.

It is quite often said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, if this is true then Peter was by all senses of the word utterly mad. Although one should not need a cliché to tell you that. It was rather quite apparent by the spark in his eye from the beginning of this entire ordeal. By this notion of full-fledged madness it could be implied that fate had always been leading them up to those days. That if Killian were able to go back in time no matter what actions he altered he would always end up there. It’s a sad thought, yet nonetheless plausible. Peter always had taken a special interest in Killian, and the eye of a madman is not something to desire. But whatever twist of luck or life it was that lead them there, they were there now. And since nothing mattered to Killian the only thing that was undeniably true in that cave was that Peter was determined to get Killian back, he swore it every night.

One way or another he would return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like kudos. Kudos are nice. So are reviews. Drop a word, say hello.
> 
> You're great, in case no one told you this today, you really are.


	13. Boil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter reaches his last resort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. School's a bugger

Like a kettle forgotten on the stove, the water that surround them was verging on a boil. Had Killian been conscious enough to witness this sensation he no doubt would have fallen into yet another spiral of self-destruction folly. For somewhere out there a fire was blazing bright, and red, and beautiful. To whom the fire belonged however was left a mystery. Although it was once seemingly harmless to their existence, it slowly crept closer and closer to civilization. Its movements were so small that not even the air noticed the subtle change in temperature that set around Peter and Killian. Eventually it would, but by then it would be far too late to stop the heat.

Peter continued with his attempts to return Killian to normal, yet no change was still apparent. After nearly two weeks of seeing nothing but each-other Peter was finally beginning to loose hope. Perhaps it was exactly that that made the days that came then so horrendously unbearable - not that horrendous or unbearable were anything that had not already been explored to their fullest in that cave. His loss of positivity in their future only drove him further into insanity. Peter was well known among many to have worn all the faces of emotion a man could possibly bare, yet few had ever seen him desperate, and none quite like this. 

By this time it wasn't much a surprise when Peter popped away from the cave for a second only to return with a small rusty blade that he flicked through the air with the rhythm of his stride.

"Get up. I don't like you hiding like that, now." He spoke with a freshened youthfulness that was not often found in his speech. His words - although nonetheless abrupt and harsh - seemed to give off a dewy sweetness that was accurately paired with the glow of his completion. "All that hair, and it's all over. I want to see you more clearly that this."

He grabbed Killian by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him into a standing position. Peter's eyes carefully inspected the thick coats of hair that ran down his chest and legs. He then spit on the blade, and wiped it on his pant leg before attempting to drag it down Killian's skin - rather unsuccessfully.

"You know if I'm being very honest I've never actually had to do this before." He joked at Killian with hopeful eyes. " Perk of the baby-face, I suppose"

Much his dismay this earned no reaction at all. 

"This isn't any fun unless you give me something to work with here." He now attempted at the hair on Killian's thigh, tugging them out with his left hand attempting to work the blade like a saw with his right. 

"Do I not even get a 'thank you' for grooming you?" He questioned, receiving only silence and a stoic gaze in return. 

"Alright, fine, if that's the way you're going to b-" Peter cut off his own words by pressing the blade into the inside of Killian's thigh causing a squirt of blood to fly up at him.   
Killian let out a yelp and allowed his leg to wobble before promptly catching himself.

"Now we're talking!" Pan exclaimed, slapping Killian on the side of his leg in celebration. "I'll tell ya what, how about we plan a little game. Each time, I'm going cut a little bit higher and a little bit deeper." He bit his tongue between a toothy grin. "you keep quiet and you win, but you make noise and I win."

He shot up to like a bolt to look Killian in the eye. "What do you say, pal?" 

Killian shuddered and slowly nodded attempted to avoid looking at Peter so giddy with sadistic malice and excitement.

"Very goo-" Before Peter could even finish his own words he stabbed the blade hard into the soft flesh of Killian inner thigh causing Killian's legs to buckle and for him to fall to the ground. He bite his tongue however, no noise coming out of his mouth. His face conveyed the agony well enough

Peter pulled out the blade and jumped back in disappointment, his lips pouted like a petulant child. Killian only grabbed at his leg, the blood pouring

"Alright, alright. You win round one. Ready for another now?"

Peter grabbed at both his legs and dragged them apart causing muffled sobs from Killian.

He sat himself atop his lap and positioned the knife so that it just barely brushed Killian's genitals. "How about this one?" He said carved into the skin like one would when roasting a pig.

Again Killian's body convulsed with pain, but still no noise.

"You are you really not giving in to this, are you?" Peter hissed. "Suppose we'll just have to bend the rules."

Peter grabbed at Killian's side, flipping his stomach onto the stone ground. He traced his knife up and down the back of his thigh digging it in ever so often. When he received no reaction he decided to untie the top of his pants and poke his throbbing cock into Killian's entrance. Killian was firm in winning this game though, for even as Peter pushed himself in he kept absolutely silent. Not a single peep when he fucked him bloody again the jagged rock surface.

By the time Peter came he was so exhausted he hadn't much energy to continue with the torture.

"You really dont want to talk to me, do you?" He whispered in a raspy voice after collapsing onto Killian's back.

They lay in silence for a while, Images of regret and nostalgia flooding Peter's mind. He wanted things to return to the way they were before, wanted it more dearly than anything else. Suddenly an idea popped into his head.

"Tell you what, Killian. How about you and I take a little trip?" He said. "Let's go on down to the ocean."  
-  
And with that the fire licked the bottom of the pot one final time and wished a warm welcome to the boil that bubbled around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read and review. I love you


	14. Dead End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the road is finally reached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Nonny, the one I wrote all of this for,
> 
> I tried my very hardest to create something you'd love, and I hope dearly and truly this helps to convey just a small portion of how much you mean to me.
> 
> -  
> To everyone else reading this, 
> 
> You don't know how much all your support has meant to me. I wish I could hug every single person who's every commented something nice on this. I can't even begin to express my gratitude to all of you.

_**There's an albatross around your neck,** _   
_**All the things you've said,** _   
_**And the things you've done,** _   
_**Can you carry it with no regrets,** _   
_**Can you stand the person you've become,** _   
_**Ooh there's a light** _

-

When Killian and Peter stepped onto that beach it seemed as though the entire world was at peace will itself. The sun shone pleasantly down, reflecting a golden glow onto the soft sand and sloshing waves. A pleasant wind was slowly blowing over the land, neither cold nor hot it brought along a sort of comfort with it in the way it enveloped them and all their sins in its lazy breeze. In the distance one could hear birds cooing and singing the gayest of songs in a harmonious echo of lively chirps. Even the sea was calmly resting in its place, its usually rough waves now only tiny things, climbing up slowly to kiss the shore every once in a while.

Killian's mouth fell open as his eyes glazed over his surrounding.

"Remember this?" Peter asked, the hope in his eyes so strong it was almost contagious.

Killian stared out at the sea for a while, completely befuddled. His legs were barely holding him up after suffering such tremendous nerve damage. Slowly he craned his neck to look down at Peter and gave a small nod.

Peter beamed up at him, his pride and excitement painted clearly on his face.

"Come on now." He said pressing his hand into the small of Killian's back- and letting it linger for just a moment too long.

He pushed them forward until their toes were just barely touching the sea. Killian was now shaking, his finger convulsing and his eyes locked on the water.

"What'd you think?" Peter said gripping himself tighter onto Killian. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Killian didn't move nor reply.

"Don't I at least get a thank you?" He questioned, his voice cracking in a joking manner.  
  
Despite his attempts Killian still refused to acknowledge him.

"Alright, alright. I'll take you in deeper-" Peter tried his best to smile however his frustration was rapidly becoming and more apparent. He was no longer in the mood for gags "-If you insist."

He pushed Killian towards the sea with just a little more force than was necessary. The walked together until the water level set just above their waists - well Killian's waist at least, Peter being noticeably shorter in his childish body. Killian's face grew more and more pained as they moved, the salt water flooding quickly though the bandages Peter had provided.

Peter waited a bit to gauge his reaction however when there was none he took it upon himself to coax Killian out of his shell. "You do know the entire point of coming out here was to get you to talk."

Killian remained as blank as ever, memorized by the liquid around him.

"This is seriously all you're gonna give me?" Peter raised his voice, his arms shoving out to just barely push Killian to the side. He could feel the anger he had built up beginning to spill out "You know what? Fuck this. I've had enough. I used to think it was my fault for forcing you into this mood, but after all I've done- everything I've trie-"

Before he could even finish he was grabbing Killian and throwing him down into the sea.  
  
"I love you so much." He cursed, shoving Killian's head into the water for a second before whipping it back up to meet his. "And this is what you give me."

When Peter's eyes met the same blank pair that had his avoided his gaze for so long something inside of him snapped. He feverishly grabbed both his hands to onto Killian's neck and forced his head under the water.

"Say my name!" He screamed holding down Killian who didn't even bother to struggle.

_silence_

"Look me in the eye!" He yelled, still erratically dunking him under the sea for periods of time that seemed to grow longer each time.

_silence_

"Fight me!" He cried, exasperated and fuming.

_silence_

"For godsakes.." He pulled Killian from the water after holding him for what felt like an eternity, "do something"

Much to his dismay the face that met his was as cold and dead as ever, if not more. Perhaps had he not been so adjusted to Killian looking blank he would have sooner noticed something had gone wrong. Something had gone terribly wrong.

He felt Killian's body slump into his arms the more he lifted him out of the water. Killian's once wobbly legs had now completely given out, leaving him limp and lifeless. Even his neck fell back beyond where Peter's arm held him, like his spine had been ripped out of him as a whole.

It wasn't until Peter finally took a good look into his eyes that he realized what had happened. Whatever life had been left in Killian from moments ago had now slipped away, leaving nothing but a cold copse cradled in Peter's arms

_One too many too many sleepless nights_

_One too many untreated cuts_

_One too many seconds under_

_Far too many regrets_

Peter felt his chest tighten and restrict so sudden it was as though he was also being held underwater. His breathe was shallow and quick, pushing in and out through a mouth that conveyed an expression of horror unlike any other. Inside his head a chorus of screams ignited his thoughts -  perhaps then he finally knew what Killian felt during all those nights left alone with only the voices to haunt him.

He dropped the body and let himself give in to gravity; his back hitting the water with a sharp and loud splash. The sea around him didn't feel right. It felt as though it was incomplete, missing something that one could not quite place their finger on but would nonetheless itch to know what it was that changed. Peter connected with it in this way. He too now felt like a part of him had been torn out from the inside leaving but a colossal emptiness that consumed his being.

Peter let himself float there for minutes. A body and a body, surfacing aimlessly on an incomplete sea; it would have almost been poetic had it not been placed under such grave circumstances. He felt as though he had finally reached his end, as though somewhere along the line he had taken a wrong turn and was now headed straight for a dead end. At this point, however, he wasn't sure if he cared. He had already lost the man in his passengers seat. Was it really worth turning around?

His hand drifted slowly to where his knife sat in his pants pockets. Almost as though testing the water he drew it up against his own neck and poked its sharpest -yet nonetheless rusted - end to the base of his throat.

"It would be so easy to.." He thought to himself. "It would be so ea-"

-

**_Your Albatross, let it go, let it go,_ **   
**_Your albatross shoot it down, shoot it down_ **   
**_When you just can't shake_ **   
**_The heavy weight of living_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there we have it. The end of Albatross. I noticed a big theme I kinda had going on was Peter cutting off his own sentences by acting before thinking, so i figured why not have him do it one last time.
> 
> And so goes the story of Peter and Killian, a literal fatal attraction.


End file.
